Chapter 3

When they got back to the Asylum they were greeted by Dr. Agnes, who watched the two with keen eyes.

"Doctor I will be starting Phil's sessions, would you like to sit in?"

"Yes I would, I'll be there soon." The doctor smiled to Dr. Agnes, "I just need a few more minutes with madam Petrova."

"Of course, five minutes." Dr. Agnes held his hand up and turned, walking back to the building.

"Emma, will you be eating alone today?" The Doctor inquired. "Because if you are we could… I um… would like to… ask you to join me… If you would like… maybe?"

"Are you asking me on a date?" Emma faced him and raised an eyebrow.

"Oh god no, I…NO!" The doctor acted outraged. "I would never!"

"Of course not, that would be reckless. If you intend to get a job here that is." Emma couldn't help but smile. "Which you are not."

"How do you know that?" The doctor tilted his head.

"If a person was to be an understudy to someone, in order to get a job, they would do whatever they asked; whenever they asked." Emma narrowed her eyes. "And you, as you just showed, don't"

"I'm a sort of free spirit," The Doctor grinned. "Like a time traveler."

Emma sighed and turned towards the Asylum. "Time traveler, that one is new." Emma walked inside, hero coat still on.

"I'm the last one." The doctor said under his breath.

Emma walked up the stairs into the 'Game room', a room with only a chess board and books from authors Emma couldn't remember. This room has only ever been inhabited by the 'higher functioning' people, as some of the orderly's characterized them.

The Orderly's were people Emma avidly tried to avoid; for they were known to be unusually rough with people and were no strangers to using medication to forcefully putting people to sleep.

The only person, not a doctor, Emma talked to was Guinevere. Guinevere's shoulder length curly blonde hair, green eyes, and long legs made Emma look like a child. Sadly, the only thing Guinevere has is her looks. She refused to read books, threw a fit if anyone corrected her, and had the grammar of a three year old child. Emma fondly remembered the day that she showed up. Emma was sixteen at the time and Guinevere was eighteen.

"Get your hands off of me!" Guinevere screamed, scratching her perfectly manicured hands against a female orderly, who left shortly after. "I am Guinevere Costello and I will not be treated in such a way!" They pushed Guinevere into the game room and slammed the door.

Emma hid in a corner holding a chess piece in her hand, as Guinevere bashed her fists against the door. They were the only people in there. Emma giggled.

"What the hell are you laughing at whack-job?" Guinevere cursed.

"The idiot trying to break down an iron reinforced door." Emma snorted. "Careful sweetie wouldn't want to break a nail."

"Screw off." She continued to hit the door.

"Sit down before you make a fool of yourself." Emma rolled her eyes.

"What are you talking about?" Guinevere spun around and glared at Emma.

"Everyone who comes here tries to get out and for a while they have hope, then their hope turns to despair. But despair just leads to them crying themselves into an emotionless heap on the ground." Emma stood up. "Now will you please sit down before I have to act like your efforts were not the most futile thing I have ever seen?" Guinevere fell back into a chair and stared at Emma as she sat down.

"How long have you been here?" Guinevere questioned.

"Six years." Emma spoke sharply. "I lost hope a long time ago."

Back then Emma tried her best to not get attached to people. Even if it meant being as rude as she could to them.

"Emma?" Guinevere, now unkempt and brandishing the same clothes all the aggressive patients did, asked from behind Emma, "How long have you been in here."

"Just a few minutes, why?" Emma spun to face her; she looked pale and seemed to be shivering.

"There was a man, you would have saw 'em" Guinevere fell to her knees, into Emma's arms. Emma looked to the top of her head there was blood spurting out of a gash.

"Guin!" Emma screamed placing her hand on the back of Guinevere's head to try and stop the bleeding.

After hearing her scream Orderly's showed up and took Guinevere to the clinic to stitch her up and sent Emma to the administrative office.

Emma sat with her elbows on her knees and head in her hands, waiting for someone to show up and force Emma to give every last detail of what had happened.

"Are you okay, Madam Petrova?" The Doctor loomed over Emma. She looked up and sighed.

"Is Guinevere okay?" Emma straightened her posture.

"Last I heard she only needed stitches." The Doctor became very serious. "Emma are you… Okay?"

"You should probably go help them take care of her." Emma's voice became monotone. "She can become very violent when she doesn't get her way."

"I don't care about her right now."

"I'm fine." Emma glared. "I'm not the priority right now."

"Emma!" Dr. Agnes greeted Emma warmly. "Are you feeling alright? We have Quinn all better. I heard she took quite a spill."

"Guinevere." The doctor's tone became slightly annoyed.

"What?" Dr. Agnes faced the doctor.

"Her name isn't Quinn." Emma narrowed her eyes. "I'm surprised you even knew my name. In fact you have never greeted me so warmly in my entire stay here."

"No need to lash out, Emma." Dr. Agnes looked at Emma shocked, "I didn't mean to offend you.

"How could you offend me? I am not a real person." Emma stood and put her face close to Dr. Agnes with the Doctor watching wide eyed in the background,

"Doctor, would you assist me in taking Emma down to the Shock therapy room?" Dr. Agnes growled.

"Actually Agnes, I have been through many lessons on shock therapy I could perform the procedure myself." The Doctor took Emma's wrist. "Allons-y, Madam Petrova." Without another word from Dr. Agnes, the Doctor led Emma down into the basement where they held the electroshock therapy, "Sit Emma." He motioned for the chair.

Emma glared and refused to move. She crossed her arms.

"I'm not going to do anything to you just sit so we could talk."

"I'm not ten, that trick doesn't work anymore." Emma stood defiantly.

The doctor placed a hand on her shoulder and looked into her eyes, "Trust me."

"I don't know you." Emma spoke incredulously.

"If you knew me you wouldn't trust me."

"Why do I get the feeling the things you are saying are so much less than what you mean?" Emma sat down and folded her legs Indian style.

"Emma, I am going to show you something that you can't ever tell anyone, do you understand?" The doctor pointed his sonic to the corner of the room.

"That isn't a screwdriver." Emma gasped as a blue police phone box appeared before her. "What the hell is that?" The Doctor smiled.

"My time machine."